


Missing Solace

by yvizsanlawrent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Day 5 Tier 3, Day 6 Tier 1, Day 7 Tier 1 & 2, Did I mention angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Onigiri Miya, OsaSuna Week, Post-Break Up, Post-Timeskip, hopeful getting back together, mostly Suna's POV, spiritual(?) references, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yvizsanlawrent/pseuds/yvizsanlawrent
Summary: His eyes flicker down to a soft clattering sound on the counter, a small ceramic plate in front of him, like an offering to a spirit.....Ikura.Suna immediately looks to Osamu, washing the plates of the last customers. He flicks his gaze to the side, meeting Suna’s eyes for the second time this night, and drops it down to his task at hand.“It’s on the house.”He felt a phantom ache, a hidden pain, from Osamu's voice. But his mouth forms an understanding ghost of a smile, takes his plate of Ikura and settles on the bar stool.((UP FOR EDITING AND UPDATE SOON!!))
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Missing Solace

**Author's Note:**

> semi-inspired by Feather's Touch by ostentatiouslyrealistic in BNHA

Suna enters into the warmth of the store, relaxing into melancholy and nostalgia. Near closing hours, he sees a few customers around, basking in the warmth, ambiance and food the store provides. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya.” A smooth voice softly reaches his ears. He looks, and spots him behind the counter. Osamu locks eyes with Suna’s, a steel gray that looks into his soul, dark earthy tones doing the same. He sees Osamu pause in his work and open his mouth, like he was taking a breath, then cuts the connection. They don’t say anything. 

Suna just comes here on a whim, years since he last went inside the very first branch, a distance from where their school was, years since they last spoke to each other. _Three._ Suna counts. _Three years._ Three years since they broke up. He hangs around the walls, looking at the frames and design, admiring how big and successful the store has grown. He smiles softly, looking at a picture of Onigiri Miya in their first year with the staff, the Miya family, close friends and the volleyball club.

It was as formal as it could get when you involved the twins. The picture was captured at the least possible moment, right when Osamu and Atsumu started bickering that disrupted the whole picture, in a good way. The picture was chaos with the attention drawn to the brothers, their parents tiredly trying to call their attention, the store staff panicking and dumbfounded at their boss’ antics, others like Aran and him didn’t bother to look anymore, conceding with exasperated smiles. 

Some distance from the picture, he sees another frame blending in well along the wall. He comes close to it, noting that it was a note written by someone. _“Miya Atsumu was here! MSBY Black Jackals #13 First Division League!!!”_ paired along a small polaroid picture of him and Osamu in the back holding serving plates, probably scolding him. Next to the picture was another note written in a familiar scrawl and an arrow pointing to Atsumu, _“I don’t know this guy, never heard of him.”_ Suna breathes out a laugh, _Of course_. Trust Atsumu to lay traces of his pride and ego even in his brother’s onigiri shop. He hears a distant “Thanks for the food!” followed by a “Thank you, come again.” Suna slowly starts moving again.

He drops some feet by the counter, curious to see how much of the original menu had changed. He sees a differently printed panel that reminds him of a secret menu, simply labeled “Onigiri Miya Special”. Curious to know how special this “Onigiri Miya Special” is, he starts reading the panel, recognizing each flavor and filling. _Negitoro, Takana, Umeboshi, Tenmusu, Ik-_

His eyes flicker down to a soft clattering sound on the counter, a small ceramic plate in front of him, like an offering to a spirit. 

..... _-ura._

Suna immediately looks to Osamu, washing the plates of the last customers. Osamu flicks his gaze to the side, meeting Suna’s eyes for the second time this night, and drops it down to his task at hand. 

“It’s on the house.” 

He felt a phantom ache, a hidden pain, from Osamu’s voice. But his mouth forms an understanding ghost of a smile, takes his plate of Ikura and settles on the bar stool. 

**.**

_10:31 pm._

Miya Kazue looks at her watch for the nth time in the past _god-knows-how-long_ , giving out a heavy breath. She would have liked to sleep already, retreating to a warm and comfy bed in this season and warm her joints. (She briefly wonders if it was a sign of aging. Shouhei suddenly gives her a weird look, as if reading her thoughts.) But ever since her son barreled back down to the kitchen some time after dinner, whining something about the weather, she felt oddly uncomfortable. Atsumu was then pacified by his father, offering to help him make shiruko to combat the cold, to which he happily agreed to do.

A glance at the kitchen shows them finishing up and cleaning, chatting about something. Seeing them gave her some comfort, but it still wasn’t enough. Kazue stabilizes her voice, letting out a small piece of her nagging thoughts. “Tsumu darlin’, can you call yer brother and ask if he’s goin’ home already? Tell him I’m asking.”

Platinum blond pops up and looks at her, frowning. “Why would I call ’Samu?” She frowns back at him. “Am just worried.” Kazue answers back slowly and lightly, trying not to show her inner distress. “It’s already late an’ it’s lookin’ like it might snow at this point.” Shouhei looks up to the nearest window, adjusting his glasses and humming in agreement. “It does look like it, he might hava hard time getting home any later.” He looks back to Atsumu, "Call 'Samu, I'll take care of cleaning up."

Atsumu grumbles and relents, placing down the bowls he was clearing, but didn’t deny his mother’s worries. He feels wrong, he feels like _something_ is wrong with him. It didn’t help that his father had been giving him glances every now and then while they were making the shiruko. He feels antsy, disturbed and restless for the past hour, blaming the season and temperature. Looking at his mother, her words gave him conflicting feelings. Like he was relieved of a burden, a weight off his shoulders, but at the same time, his stomach feels like it just dropped down a couple tons. 

Atsumu didn’t get to dwell on his thoughts for too long when as he unlocked his phone to call _‘not my twin’_ , Osamu’s contact name appears across his screen. 

**.**

_10:16 pm._

In the now dimly lit store, a small wall clock tells Suna the time, like a gentle reminder of reality. He slowly stands, a slouch still evident, keeping his hands in his pockets like usual. He mumbles out a soft thanks and moves away from the counter, breathing out the chilly night air that has seeped into the store. He expected to see a puff of air, but saw none. He starts walking, slightly amused by the fact. 

“Rintarou.” 

His movement slows down to a stop, hearing the layers of underlying tones in the man’s voice, but takes his time. Suna sees the last of the stores and the buildings’ lights go out, the remaining people shuffling out to go home, or to find an open bar. He sees the remaining store promos and selections still displayed and on the store front. He sees the genkan, a mat and some plants furnishing the entrance, with the baggage and amenities table. Finally, Suna sees the man’s faint reflection on the one of the windows, standing near where he was seated.

He turns around. Slowly, hands tucked, step by step. 

“Osamu.” 

More than words, a breath just passes between them. Weightless air. 

Silently, they regard each other. The intricacies of another easily coming back to them from years of experience. The subtleties, details, knowledge, habits and quirks proving useful and unforgettable even after 3 years. He looks back at the steel gray orbs, irises cold and dark. Yet turbulent. 

Suna breathes out a soft snort. 

“Looks like the past two years have been good to you, you’ve changed.”

“You haven’t.” Osamu immediately says back, tone clipped and sharp, with a guarded expression. 

He just lightly laughs, “Well obviously, how am I supposed to?” 

It might have been the wrong thing to say, or the right one, with unbidden humor bubbling out of Suna. If what he said _was_ humor. 

Osamu’s breath hitches, gray eyes widening, flaring in flurries of emotion. _"You." He_ grits his teeth, baring fangs at him. Suna waits, standing in front of him.

"Then _why_ are you here? _How are you here? Yer not even-"_ He stops himself, shutting his mouth, seething. The last of that sentence echoing in their silences, too painfully aware.

When Suna doesn't say anything, his face crumples and falls. Mouth opening in a silent cry, years of stress, tension and darkness boil out of Osamu.

"Why Rin, why? Why can't you.. _"_

His breath hitches once more, as he gives up and deflates. 

"....Why can't you just come back.....Please…” 

He chokes out, holding onto the counter for support. “Please c-come b-b-back.... to me…” A breath, a wheeze, a crack, a whisper. _A plea._ Suna takes a good look at him, his face shifting into a finer softness, one that someone like _him_ would know. He steps forward. 

"I can't- I can't- _live_ _l_ _ike this anymore Rin."_

Osamu was crumbling, dangerously and fast, his façade earlier was now thrown out and completely forgotten. The first downfall of a storm, unyielding, unforgiving and merciless. Anguish and hope, such two contrasting emotions. Contrasting emotions that Suna knew he was the reason for it. Osamu didn’t have his apron or hat anymore, hunched over, shaking and tensed, clutching against the newly cleaned counter like a lifeline. A lifeline to restore permanent damages. Like it would bring things back to normal. 

_Him_ back to normal. 

Suna wanted to frown, he _almost frowned_ , but knew it would hurt Osamu. His thoughts weren’t helping either. 

_Nine years_ since they got together _. Four_ when they slowly drifted apart _. Three_ since they separated ways. _Two years_ since they last saw the other. _Two-_

Looking at his eyes, blurred and glassed by tears, Suna knew that Osamu knows. Knows that he has no warmth, no resistance, no figure nor tension. 

Just cold air. 

**.**

  
  


From his earlier thoughts, it comes back at him like a suppressed shark, an unrest haunting. 

How ironic. 

_(....-Two years since I last woke up.)_

**~**

_fin chapter 1_

**Author's Note:**

> *cue evil laugh and that mean patrick meme*
> 
> would you believe this was supposed to be a short drabble/poem type with no angst
> 
> anygays, see you next chap or on twt @/yvizsanlawrent


End file.
